


Running on Empty

by htbthomas



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Background Barry/Iris unrequited, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Power Up, Powerlessness, Trapped, Yuletide 2014, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-28 12:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2732093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htbthomas/pseuds/htbthomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a case, Barry's powers are pushed past their limit, leaving him stranded in a subway car with Joe, Iris and a suspect who has nothing to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running on Empty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chosenfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chosenfire/gifts).



> Just a little thank you. :)
> 
> Thanks also to LadySilver for the beta!

Barry shuts the car door with a click behind him and his seatbelt is fastened a nanosecond later. Joe doesn’t turn his head, just glances slightly to the right. “What was it this time?”

“Would you believe a cat in a tree?” Barry lets out a little exhalation of a laugh. Actually, it was a fire, clear on the other side of the city. And there _was_ a cat. Really. A stuffed one that the little girl in the family was crying for.

“Mm hmm.” Joe just puts the car into reverse and lets Barry’s half-truth—quarter-truth?—slide.

Barry closes his eyes with a touch of exhaustion, but mostly relief. This is the good thing about working with someone who knows him so well—someone who’s known him from before all the super-speed craziness, someone who knows the truth. If he had to try to make excuses to anyone else, he’s not sure what he’d say. He’s not Oliver Queen, practiced for years in little white lies and enormous green ones.

“So,” Barry says to change the subject, “Where are we off to?” 

Joe pulls out into the street before answering. “Shooting death at East Street Subway Station.”

“Any details yet?” 

“Not much. One body, uniformed officers on the scene.”

Barry nods. This case might occupy him for most of the morning. He hopes it does.

Then the radio in the car comes to life. “211 in progress, Fifth and Central. Nearest units respond.”

Barry turns toward Joe, ready to apologize, but he finds Joe’s already nodding. He says with a smirk. “Meet you at the subway station afterward.”

The Flash has the perps tied up and waiting at the scene of the robbery before the police arrive, a note pinned to the electrical cord-doubling-for-rope. “Courtesy of The Flash.”

Barry jogs up to Joe just as he’s entering the subway terminal, not needing to pretend to be out of breath. Barry has been constantly on the run today—literally—and for the last week as well. Joe notes his arrival with a glance and a, “Keeping up this pace, it can’t be good for you.”

Barry nods. But he doesn’t think he _can_ stop. If the team at S.T.A.R. Labs knew how much he’s been using his abilities lately, they’d be all over him. Caitlin would lecture him, Cisco would scare him with a million alarming eventualities, and worst of all Dr. Wells would just pierce him with that disapproving stare that makes him feel about an inch tall. But it’s like an internal force is driving Barry to save as many people as possible.

“You can only distract yourself for so long,” Joe says, with a hint of fatherly concern.

“Distract?” Barry replies breezily, but his heart’s not in it. Joe’s right. “I just don’t know what else to do.”

Joe stops just short of the crime scene and puts a comforting arm around Barry’s shoulders. “I know, son. But even heroes need a break. And using your…” He looks around for a moment to be sure no one is listening. “... thing… twenty-four hours a day is not going to help you get over Iris.”

“Iris? What?” Barry’s not very convincing. This is the _bad_ thing about working with someone who knows him so well.

“Barry…” Joe shakes his head. Gesturing for Barry to go ahead of him, they duck under the police tape. Ahead of them is a couple of uniformed police officers, a stopped subway train with the doors locked open… and a dead body. When Barry sees the body face down on the platform, he’s nearly sick. Yet another person that he could have saved if he’d only been fast enough, if he’d only known it was happening. As he crouches down to inspect the body further, instead of feeling nausea, his stomach growls. Loudly.

Thankfully no one seems to notice. “What happened here?” Joe asks one of the officers.

“Some sort of altercation between two men on the subway. Witnesses say they were arguing on the train, and when one of them stormed off, the other shot him in the back and fled.”

“They catch him?” 

“No, sir. A couple of witnesses gave us a description. Tall, salt and pepper beard, green knit cap, black jacket.”

“They see which way he went?”

“In the confusion, no one seems to know. Some of the witnesses are still here if you wanna talk to them.” 

Barry looks over to where a small group of witnesses is milling about, looking scared. With a start, he recognizes one of them immediately. 

Before he can say it, Joe is walking toward the group, calling out, “Iris?”

Barry rises to see Iris smile and wave, greeting Joe with a hug. “Dad!”

Great. He’s been running himself ragged to get her off his mind and she’s right here. No chance of running away, either. He tries to stay focused on studying the evidence, but his traitorous mind picks up every word of Joe and Iris’s conversation as they walk toward him.

“Were you on that train?”

“Yeah! I was going from work to a meeting with my advisor, and well…”

“Are you okay? Hurt? Because, baby, a stray bullet could—”

“Dad. No. I’m fine. I did get a pretty good look at the gunman, though. Have you got a pencil? I can…” Iris’s voice trails off, as she sees Barry. “Oh, hey, you.” 

Barry smiles and gives her a wave, but then turns back to the body. He hasn’t seen a thing of use yet—and he’s not sure he will with her standing right there. Every time he sees her now he thinks about how confused she must be about The Flash. One minute he’s a monster, the next he’s a hero. And of course, he had to go and profess his love just as she’s moving in with her boyfriend.

She seems to pick up on the awkward tension. “Uh, you know what, I can just stop by the station and sit with the sketch artist.”

“Iris, you don’t need—” Joe begins.

“Yeah,” Barry says, rising, suddenly feeling bad. “Don’t leave on my account.”

Iris looks down. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she says, “The sketch artist could get a better likeness than me, anyway.”

“At least stay long enough to give your statement,” Joe says with a long-suffering sigh, a dollop of you-kids-tire-me-out in his tone, “then you can go and have that meeting with your advisor.”

“Okay.” 

Barry wishes things were different. He wants nothing more than to tell her the truth, to tell her everything. Maybe if she knew, she’d understand, she’d listen to his side of the story. They’re best friends, but he wants her to be more than a friend. None of that is possible with this wall of secrets between them. Not to mention his foster-father.

Barry crouches back down. Looks like a single shot to the back, from the size of the wound, probably from 10-15 feet away. The gunman had good aim, too, a straight shot to the heart; he might have training. Now, did the bullet pass through, or is it still embedded? He gently lifts the body and the slug clatters to the concrete. Question answered. With a pair of tweezers, he plucks the bullet from the pool of blood. It’s from a .38, standard manufacture, nothing special. He bags it and places it in his evidence kit.

He turns to Joe to report what he’s found, but Joe is off to the side speaking to another witness, so he writes it down on his notepad. The case looks pretty open and shut—one gunman, plenty of witnesses, just a matter of finding him and matching the ballistics. Joe probably doesn’t need him anymore. He can get out of here, recharge and get back to his important business of… 

Iris clucks her tongue at something on her phone. 

...distraction. As much as he wants to ask what she’s reading, he shouldn’t. He tries to look away, to let her be.

But Iris catches him watching her anyway. Nodding at her phone, she explains, “He’s getting bolder.”

“He?” Barry asks, though he has a sinking feeling he knows,

“The Flash. He just stopped a robbery and signed his name.” She looks like she’s not sure whether that’s a good or bad thing. 

“Oh?” Damn it. He shouldn’t have signed the note to the police, but it seemed like the easiest thing to do… 

“And I never thought he’d start using the name I gave him, but somehow he has. It’s weird to think that he’s reading my blog.”

He’s definitely reading it. He has an alert set up to tell him whenever there’s a new post. But he plays it cool. “That is weird. The Flash is reading your blog about The Flash.” Barry pulls his gloves off and deposits them in his briefcase. “And maybe a little creepy...”

“Yeah, probably.” 

He didn’t expect her to agree, and it makes him his face fall. A little more snappily than he means to, he adds, “On the other hand, he’s probably protecting himself. Maybe you’re some obsessed fangirl, or even some sort of Mata Hari, looking to trap him.”

Iris scoffs. “You can’t be serious!”

He holds up his hands in defense. “I’m just sayin’...”

Her eyes spark angrily until she sees he’s teasing her. “I want to _report_ on him, find out what makes him tick. Make sure he’s what he says he is..”

“And none of that involves a meticulously-outfitted Flash-proof dungeon?”

This time Iris whacks him on the arm. “Shut up,” she says, laughing. But suddenly her mood turns fierce. “Don’t make fun of this. It’s important to me.”

“Sorry.” And he means it. 

Of course, Joe happens to finish with a witness and come over at that moment. ”What’s important to you?”

“What else?” She shows Joe her phone’s screen, with a touch of defiance.

Joe’s lips press together as he reads. He sends Barry a frustrated glance. “He’s signing his notes now?” Luckily Iris doesn’t catch the look that passes between them.

“Look,” Joe says, clearly trying to change the subject, “let’s get your statement and your description, and then you can get out of here.”

“Fine.” She pockets the phone. “I was looking through some papers to show my advisor when I started to overhear an argument down a couple seats from me. One guy, the guy who was shot I guess, starts yelling something like, ‘You better not double cross me, we had a deal!’ Then the other guy, the one in the green cap, got right into his face and growled something I didn’t hear. About this time, the train was coming to a stop. So the first guy says ‘Not if I do first!’ and pushes through the crowd to the exit. Green Cap says, ‘If you do, it’ll be the last thing you do!’”

“Really?” Barry asks.

“Yeah, it was totally like out of some made-for-TV crime movie.” 

“Sounds like a couple of winners.”

“Anyway…” Joe presses.

“Yes, anyway, then Green Cap follows him, drawing a gun. I was behind him, out of the line of fire—”

“Thank god.”

“—and people started screaming when they saw the gun. I got moved along by the crowd trying to get out of the way, but I definitely saw the other guy get shot and fall to the ground. I tried to keep my eyes on the shooter, but by the time I broke free of the crowd, he was gone.”

Joe makes a few notes. “That’s pretty consistent with what the other witnesses saw, but you overheard a lot more of their conversation than anyone else, it looks like. Thanks, sweetie,”—he leans over to give Iris a kiss on the cheek—“you better get those papers to your advisor now. Need cab fare?”

“No, I think I—” Iris suddenly stops, her face going ashen. “Oh no.”

“What?” Barry asks. “Do you see him?” He pivots on his heel, trying to catch a glimpse. Maybe he can bring the guy into custody before the crime scene is even cleared.

“I left my papers on the train… they moved us all away from the tracks and out of the train as soon as they could. Oh my god, if they’re lost, or destroyed…” She grimaces.

“Hey, don’t you worry,” Joe says, patting her on the arm. “I can let you through. The M.E. is about to take the body—Barry, you got what you needed?”

“Yes.” He nods—he can see how worried she is. “I’ll help you look.” Off Joe’s look, he adds, “three sets of eyes have got to be better than one.”

“Thank you,” Iris says, but her grateful smile dims quickly back to worry.

The train is a mess of dropped coffee cups, lost hats and scarves, newspapers and various items. The three of them pick through the mess carefully. Iris calls out when she finds a page, then the next. “There’s still one missing.” She bites the side of her lip.

A couple minutes later, Barry sees just the edge of a page stuck back against the train wall. It’s soaked in spilled coffee. Carefully, using the tweezers from his briefcase, he pulls it up. Holding it aloft and dripping, he says, “Is this it?”

At that very moment, his stomach growls again, this time so loud in the echoing space that both Joe and Iris hear it clearly. “You need your mid-morning snack, Barry?” Iris teases. But she looks at the page, and her face transforms into relief. “Yes. That’s it. Thank god, you’re a life saver—”

With a hiss, the doors of the train close and it starts to move with a jerk. Joe and Iris cry out and fall to the grimy floor. His briefcase tumbles from his shoulder and Barry grabs at a metal pole, his superspeed kicking in for a moment to snag it without falling. But everything feels off, like his battery is draining fast. He’s gotta get some food in him soon.

“What the hell!” Joe says with a groan. “I thought they were closing this line until the crime scene was completely cleared.” He puts a hand to his forehead and it comes back bloody.

“Dad, are you all right?” Iris asks, voice touched with panic. She digs in her purse for a tissue to stop the bleeding.

“Just cracked my head on the edge of the seat. Hurts like hell, but otherwise...” Joe starts to get up.

“No way, sit down,” Iris orders. Without turning away from Joe, she says, “Barry, better call the station.”

Barry nods and pulls out his cell phone, noting that the train is starting to speed up as it enters the tunnel. That can’t be good. But it’s no use, there’s no reception in the tunnel. He taps at his ear comm—totally dead as well. There’s no way to contact S.T.A.R. Labs. “No service,” he tells Joe and Iris, nodding toward the front of the car. “I’m going to tell the driver we’re in here, or radio for help.”

At a speed that avoids kicking in his powers, Barry starts to jog toward the front of the train. He’s been trying to ignore a low-level tension headache building in his front cortex, but he really can’t any more. As soon as he gets out of here he’s going to _wreck_ that Chinese buffet up the street.

He finds the controls unattended. So did the train malfunction? Did someone in the control booth back at the station put it on autopilot? Scanning the dials and switches, he wishes that Cisco were here with him. He’d take one look and have the train slowing to a stop. With Barry’s luck, anything he’d press would speed up the train instead. He sees the radio just to the left of the driver’s seat, and lifts it to his mouth.

Before he can get out a word, there’s a gravelly voice behind him. “Say a word and it’ll be your last.”

Barry closes his eyes. Of course. He should have known that the train didn’t start moving on its own. Lowering the radio, he slowly turns toward the voice, which from the choice of words he suspects belongs to Iris’s bad tv-movie criminal. Green cap, check. Salt and pepper beard, check. Gun pointing at him, unfortunately, check. “Hey, man, just trying to stop the train.”

“You want it stopped? Fine by me.” He moves toward the controls, keeping the gun steady, and reaches over to pull a lever toward him. The train screeches to a stop, right there in the middle of the tunnel. “But no radio. We’re staying right here.”

“Until?” Until the next train plows into them? Did anyone come after them when the train pulled away from the station, or was everyone so distracted they assumed it was supposed to? He doesn’t know anything about the intricacies of subway schedules and communication.

“Until you give me what I need. You’re the CSI, right?”

Barry nods. The guy must have been watching the police secretly from the train. Barry’s mind runs through a couple of different scenarios of how to deal with Green Cap—Iris’s name for him, it’s better than ‘the guy,’ anyway, since Barry doesn’t think he’ll voluntarily give him his name. Barry could use super-speed to disarm Green Cap before he knew what hit him, then radio for help. He could play along until he finds out what Green Cap wants, but he risks putting Iris and Joe in danger. He could run away, forcing the back doors open through sheer speed alone and get back to the station for help.

Green Cap gestures with the gun. “Where’s your evidence kit?”

Suddenly it’s all clear. If Green Cap disposes of the evidence and the gun, there won’t be anything left to connect him to the murder. Gotta disarm him then. Barry springs into action, reaching for the gun and the radio cord to tie him up before Green Cap can react.

Or at least, that’s what he plans to do. Instead, the world starts to spin in brilliant color and he finds himself flat on his back, his head blooming with pain. Barry clutches at his head with a moan.

“What did I tell you, idiot!” Green Cap is shouting at him through the dizzy fog. And then there’s a deafening bang, and Barry’s knee feels like it’s on fire. Barry screams in agony, curling in on himself. “You’ll get me that bullet, or it’s lights out for you.”

“Too late,” Barry moans, and the world goes black.

* * *

Barry wakes up groggy and weak, the world still spinning slightly. It takes his vision a moment to clear, but it coalesces into Joe’s worried face above him. “Barry?” he whispers tensely. “You okay?” It feels like Joe is pressing something to Barry’s knee, probably to stop the bleeding.

“You might have noticed that I’ve been shot…” He winces, the pain is just as terrible as it was how ever long ago he passed out. “Where’s…?”

“The gunman is over there,”—Joe cuts his eyes to the right— “tearing apart the seats one by one.” Shaking his head slightly, Joe adds, “He got my gun.”

“Damn.” Now that Barry focuses—hard as it is—he can hear the sound of tearing fabric and cursing. “The seats? Why…?”

“I… might have told him you hid the bullet.”

“That doesn’t…” He can’t finish the thought. It doesn’t make any sense, but nothing makes any sense right now. His speed is on the fritz, he’s lost a lot of blood probably… “Where is it—really?” he manages to get out.

He mouths his answer. “Iris has it. Went for help.”

Barry lets out a breath. At least she’s safely away. Even if he bleeds out here, she’ll live to see another day, though she might wonder what happened to her lightning-fast hero…

Joe checks the wound again. “It looks normal. I mean, like a bullet wound is supposed to. I’ve got a tourniquet on it, but there’s still a lot of blood.” He checks it as he talks, face full of worry. “What happened to your healing? And what happened with him? Can’t you stop guys like this in your sleep?”

“I…” Barry swallows against the pain. “...kinda ran out of gas?”

Joe frowns in confusion. “Gas? What?” Then his face clears. “You ran your power into the ground, didn’t you?” Joe smacks him with his free hand. “Dummy!” 

“Ow!” It doesn’t really hurt—actually he can’t feel anything except the pain in his knee, as if all sensation is centered there and only there. But if there was any time for black humor, this would be it.

Joe grumbles an apology, keeping an eye on Green Cap, who hasn’t noticed Barry is awake. But that’s okay, maybe he isn’t really awake, there are patches of black floating across his vision… He closes his eyes.

“Barry. Barry!” Joe whispers urgently. “Stay with me!”

The words coming out of Joe’s mouth sound like they’re filtered through a couple inches of thick glass, but he can hear them. “I’m still with you.” 

“Good.” After a pause, he feels Joe’s breath hot on his ear. “Now pretend like you’re not.”

“That’ll be easy…” He’s starting to lose consciousness again anyway. That’s not a good thing, is it? Or is it? When he was struck by lightning, his body protected itself by going into a coma. Maybe his super-charged DNA needs to hibernate in order to heal? But this guy is desperate enough to shoot a member of the CCPD and hold another one hostage. Can he really afford to go under again? Can he afford not to? What if Iris can’t get help in time? This thought process is so rapid—though nowhere near super-speed—that Barry has already decided to stay awake by sheer force of will while Joe has barely straightened up and given him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. 

Then Joe presses down a little harder on the wounded knee with his makeshift compress. Louder than their conversation before, Joe says, “Come on, buddy, I can’t lose you, too.” His voice breaks in the middle of the last word. The pain in his voice is real—it’s been less than a year since he lost his former partner.

The sounds of destruction pause, and Green Cap’s voice comes close. “Is he dead?”

“No. Not yet. But he needs treatment, real medical treatment.” Joe pleads. “He’s losing a lot of blood. What happens if he never wakes up?”

“Then you better hope I find that evidence before your buddies arrive.”

“Wha—” Joe’s stammer sounds real, too. “What buddies? There’s no cell phone reception this far into the tunnels, you know that.”

“But how long until someone comes to check on the train on foot?”

There’s a long silence. Barry knows that Joe’s already considered this—he probably sent Iris for help expecting her to meet someone halfway. Quietly, Joe asks, “Even if you do find it… how do I know you won’t kill us both anyway?”

“You don’t know.” Green Cap’s voice lowers dangerously. “But I sure as hell won’t leave any witnesses if I _don’t_ find it.” Barry hears his footsteps recede.

Joe’s hand squeezes his wounded knee once, like a promise to back up his words. “Don’t worry, Barry. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

Barry starts to tell him that he knows, but even the act of drawing breath to speak hurts. Every part of him feels on fire now, like the wound in his knee is sending trails of agony down every limb. But he wants to reassure Joe, to give the man who has done the same for him a thousand times over. He opens his eyes and concentrates on lifting one hand from the floor of the subway car, pours all the energy he can into that one simple movement.

Joe’s head turns just as Barry is about to touch him, and his mouth forms a question. _What?_

But the hand, instead of grazing Joe’s arm, just… passes through.

Barry’s eyes widen in shock—is he hallucinating now? But then he sees the expression on Joe’s face. He didn’t imagine it. “What just…?” Joe whispers. He does a double take, touching Barry’s now-solid hand with a finger. “What was that?”

“I don’t know…” Barry wiggles his fingers. They feel normal. though any movement is still fraught with excruciating pain.

Joe risks a glance at their captor. “Could you… do it again?”

Barry concentrates again, straining to add just a dash of the super-vibration he uses to disguise his face. This time, when he reaches out, his hand completely ghosts through Joe’s arm, his torso and out again.

Joe shivers. “Whoa. I didn’t even feel that.” Joe cuts his eyes toward Green Cap. 

Barry knows exactly what Joe’s thinking. Use this hidden talent, and bullets wouldn’t be able to touch him. But he’s weak, so weak. It’s going to take every ounce of his concentration and strength. And after, then what? Will he snuff out, like a flame?

Joe gives his head a little sad shake, and pats Barry’s chest lightly. “Just rest. Help will be here soon.”

He looks into Joe’s eyes. He’s worried, and tired, and brave enough to take on the man himself, but not willing to risk Barry’s life in the process. Joe has always felt responsible for Barry, long after his legal responsibilities officially ended. And that’s why Barry has to do this, to give back by calling on his last reserves…

Barry starts to push himself to a sitting position. He winces against the shooting flames in every muscle. “No, Barry, you can’t—” Joe protests. 

But Barry levers himself just enough to stand on one leg. He overbalances for a second, and grabs onto a pole beside him for support. If he felt on fire before, now he feels like molten center of the sun. He just has to hope he can make it a little longer… and that the tourniquet will hold. “Hey,” he calls out, and his voice cracks. “Green Cap!”

Green Cap. Joe’s gun tucked into the waistband of his pants, frowns at the moniker Barry’s been using, until now, only in his head. He pivots and brings his own gun around to point at Barry. Flicking his eyes at Barry’s bloody kneecap, “You know where that bullet is? ...Or you want a matching pair?”

Barry has to fight to keep from rolling his eyes. Actually, it’s not too hard since he’s mostly fighting to stay upright. “It’s…” Barry points vaguely toward the doors. “Just over—” His voice cracks, the pain breaking through his resolve.

Green Cap takes a step toward Barry. “Where?” 

Barry keeps his eyes away from the gun in Green Cap’s waistband, he doesn’t want to give the game away too early. “Over—” But he winces even to say that much. How is he going to be able to do anything at all? 

Another step closer. “C’mon, the quicker I get it, the quicker this all ends.”

“Ends how?” Joe asks from his place on the floor. 

Green Cap doesn’t answer, he takes another step closer, tilting his head to see better where Barry is pointing.

And with that extra step, he’s close enough. Barry closes his eyes, pouring every bit of his reserve energy into vibrating his body. All except his hand, which whips forward to snag Joe’s pistol.

Green Cap gives a shout of alarm, bringing up the gun. Barry sees it fire in slow motion, through some glimmer of his speed power, the sparks shooting from the barrel of the gun. Oh my god, this is never going to work, he’s got to move out of the way super-quick, maybe he still can, if he can see time slow down—

Then time snaps back into place and the shot rings in his ears. He expects to feel the pain of a second wound, even as he tries to vibrate himself apart. But there’s nothing—no pain, no feeling—nothing except the shock on Green Cap’s face.

To the side, Joe throws himself into a roll and retrieves his gun, bringing it up with deadly aim. “Drop your gun. _Now._ ”

Green Cap stands there blinking for a moment, and then lowers his gun. It clatters to the floor. And just in time. Barry stops vibrating with an gasping intake of breath and slumps, sliding down the metal pole.

“On your knees, hands on your head,” Joe orders. The guy does what he’s told, eyes fixed on Barry’s unmarked chest.

That was almost it. Barry should have been dead. Who could survive a point-blank shot to the chest, other than a metahuman? Didn’t Felicity say Oliver survived it…?

Suddenly there’s a rumble of boots all around, their CCPD backup arriving. He lifts his head to see more streaming in from the back, and in the midst of them, Iris. Her hands cover her mouth as their eyes meet. He must look like absolute hell.

And he feels every bit of it. The last thing he sees is Iris rushing toward him as his eyelids flutter closed.

* * *

He wakes to the sun streaming over him, which is weird, because the light doesn’t come into the medical bay at S.T.A.R. Labs like that. Every other time he’s been hurt lately, he’s gotten fixed up there. He opens his eyes tentatively. Muted grey walls, large window, tubes sticking out of his arm and a beeping machine. A hospital room, looks like the same place they took Eddie after his run in with Tockman.

He hears Iris’s voice before he sees her. “Barry, oh my god, I’m so glad you’re awake.” She touches his arm lightly, her fingers giving it a brief squeeze. “Barry’s awake, Dad.”

Joe, dozing in a chair in the corner of the room, blinks awake and rises. “Barry, how are you feeling?”

Barry can sense a double-meaning behind Joe’s words. “Not 100 percent.” In fact, he feels achy, tired, barely able to do more than speak. He tries lifting the arm connected to the IV, and it takes effort. He’s alive, but it doesn’t look like his speed or his accelerated healing are back. And he’s still starving. Whatever nourishment the IV is providing isn’t nearly enough. His stomach rumbles in echo of his thoughts. “Just hungry. Any chance you can get them to switch this for a Big Belly Burger drip instead?”

Joe winces as he laughs. “The EMTs got you here as soon as possible,” Joe explains. “After all those cops saw your gunshot wound, and the amount of blood on the floor, it was the next logical step.”

In other words, there was no avoiding coming to a regular hospital. Taking Barry to S.T.A.R. Labs would have raised too many questions. “I understand. And I’m glad you were there.”

Iris looks back and forth between them, a puzzled frown on her face that slowly clears. Scooting closer, she says, “The doctor said your wound isn’t as bad as they thought it would be. The kneecap wasn’t even damaged. You should be able to walk without any issues once it heals.” Looking away, she adds, “Even run.”

Barry shares a quick panicked glance with Joe. Did she see something? Trying to keep it light, Barry jokes, “If you think I’ll be running a marathon any time soon, you’re going to have a long wait.”

“That’s okay.” She leans over to give him a kiss on the cheek, which lingers longer than he expects. Then before she straightens up, she whispers in his ear, “You’re worth waiting for.” 

Barry’s mouth drops open. Did she— Has she—?

Breezily, she stands and announces, “I’m going to see what they’ve got in the cafeteria, maybe some of those curly fries you like, Barry. Want anything, Dad?”

“No thanks.” 

Then she’s gone, and Barry is still frozen with shock.

“Barry,” Joe says, coming to sit beside the bed. “What did she say to you?”

“I…” Barry swallows. “I think we might have more to worry about than when my powers come back.”


End file.
